It strikes me just now that I didn’t write anything here about the fact that I had my first vaccine shot last week; somehow, it slipped my mind after the fact despite utterly dominating my every thought — well, every third thought, perhaps — before it happened.
The problem wasn’t just that I’m afraid of needles and was nervous about the actual act of getting the shot itself, although I couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a factor; I was getting quietly obsessed over the question of just when I’d be able to get the shot at all. I’d talk to friends and acquaintances, and the subject would come up; I’d see others making announcements of their vaccines on social media, and every time, I’d think to myself, I’m in my mid-40s, shouldn’t I be getting this by now?
The irony was that I was too healthy. I’d filled in the state questionnaire, only to find that I was in too good a shape to be viable for the first waves of vaccines, leaving me impatient and decrying my absence of chronic health problems in something approaching jest. (But only approaching, I confess.) Finally, I got the nod midway through last week: I’d receive the first shot that Friday.
My anxiety about the actual shot then truly kicked in. I’m not someone who has a true phobia of needles, just someone squeamish enough about pain that the idea of being stabbed makes me uncomfortable, but that was enough to leave me in a nervous, talkative state as I sat down for the actual event, making nervous jokes about how I’d have to look away when it happened or else I’d look like I was having an allergic reaction. The medics in question patiently put up with me nonetheless, and the whole thing was over in almost no time. All that worry for something so small, in the end.
I’ve already scheduled my second shot, for a month from now; I’ve already told people I’m Team Moderna as if it’s a fandom, not a vaccine. I’ve already moved on from all the nerves and worry, somehow. No wonder I forgot to write about it here.